You Are Not Alone
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: AU. The Face of Boe's last known secret would be revealed, You Are Not Alone, to the lonely traveler; but time is so complicated, and the first meeting isn't always in the right order nor are the circumstances like anything you would expect. [Completed but will be added to]
1. Chapter 1

**Title**

You Are Not Alone 

**Author**

Sar'Kalu

**Summary**

_AU. The Face of Boe's last known secret would be revealed, You Are Not Alone, to the lonely traveller; but time is so complicated, and the first meeting isn't always in the right order nor is circumstance anything like you would expect._

**Disclaimer**

Harry Potter is the Intellectual property of J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury Books and Warner Brothers Entertainment and their various affiliations; Doctor Who is the Intellectual property of the British Broadcasting Corporation and their affiliates; no monetary gain is received in the publishing of this fiction. Any and all script usage in this fiction belongs to the BBC and her affiliates and no monetary gain will be collected from their use.

**Rating**

MA15+: Death, Explicit Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Actions and

**A/N**

Various languages have been used, most of the dialogue will be in English but for the bits which are not, the following is a guide.

"English"

"_Wolf_"

"Parseltongue"

"_Alien/various_" – usually labeled

* * *

**Chapter One**

Who Let the Wolf Out?

The sky was overcast, a dreary grey that one only finds in Scotland when Harry awoke, his head pounding like he had been trampled by a three ton hippogryff. Struggling into an upright seated position, his sides aching from the tumble he had taken down the side of a tall hill, Harry curse his 'Potter Luck' for landing him in whatever situation he had stumbled upon once more. The hill that he had just tumbled down after meeting an unfortunately hard surface was now occupied by a tall blue box from -if Harry wasn't mistaken- the nineteen-sixties. Hermione had loved late twentieth century muggle culture and had spent much of her (and Ron's) retirement funds collecting odds and ends which she would pass onto Fred II and James II as 'ideas' for their prank merchandise. Neither Ginny nor Ron had been able to decide whether to be amused at her being the one to aid the new generation of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes or shocked that _Hermione _was aiding and abetting the new generation of pranksters.

Harry shook his head clearing his thoughts as he stumbled around the hill and down onto a muddy road. Admittedly the lack of any surfacing led Harry to cautiously wonder if 'track' wasn't a better word for the trail. The hard packed dirt was scattered with hoof prints and the deep ruts from a loaded carriage or wagon after all Harry knew the signs well after nearly three decades of teaching at Hogwarts and seven years as a student there. Spinning around in a circle, Harry attempted to understand just where he had turned up, it was definitely Scotland he knew the area's flora and fauna particularly well; although, if he wasn't mistaken, he was in the lowlands probably around Stirling or Falkirk. He couldn't be completely certain of his location, not even he, at a hundred, was that good; mind you, Harry mused, Neville might have been able to tell.

Deciding to be oddly sensible for once Harry set off down the road, following the tracks at an easy lope; fifty years as an auror had taught him to pace himself for long distance endurance jogging. All the while he cursed his soft-hearted nature when it came to his only granddaughter, Luna II who was an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic. Apparently three years ago had seen an upsurge of trans-dimensional activity which naturally drew the Unspeakable's to the 'rift' like bee's to honey. And guess who their guinea pig was?

Luna was going to owe him at least three cups of tea for this, maybe even a homemade treacle tart. Harry nearly drooled at the thought, grinning broadly all the while.

Harry paused after a particularly high hill, his hands pressed to his knees and gasping for air greedily, apparently he was more out of shape than he had thought. Frowning at the thought, Harry drew his wand and checked his physical health, Ginny would kill him if he died in the middle of Scotland because of his failure to adhere to his Healer's strict instructions. Bemused at the information flooding his mind from the spell, Harry shrugged and pocketed his wand stumbling down the hill towards a house upon the moor.

The house was a typical Victorian style villa with a darkly gabled roof and dreary grey-white walls and dark exposed wood. The name of the house stood starkly above the door upon a piece of flat wood, the word carved in curly letters: _Torchwood_. The name rang bells in Harry mind, bringing up memories of impossible things like space travel, aliens and nights curled up on the sofa with his giggling children with the TV blaring full blast as they cheered the hero onwards. Harry shrugged the feeling off, it hardly mattered at the moment he was simply looking forward to a well-deserved rest and possibly a warm bite to eat.

Harry trudged down into the courtyard, eyeing the strange men moving about a tall black carriage with four matching black horses in the traces. Men in red frock coats stood around it, their hands gripping their bayonets tightly and Harry wondered just what he'd done to deserve this obviously bad luck. Something big was happening here, and he didn't have _any_ identification on him. Muggles hadn't used bayonets since the early twentieth century, machine guns having quickly surpassed their antiquated predecessors and while horses and carriages were considered chic they certainly weren't as 'posh' as the one in the courtyard appeared to be. Even the horses appeared to be unnaturally used to their position in the traces, barely tossing their heads or acting the slightest bit spooked at being harnessed to what amounted to a rattling box on wheels. Most odd, Harry mused as he slunk into the courtyard, head cocked to the side as he pondered the mystery before him.

"You! Stop right there!" A Londoner accent ordered him, Harry spun on his heels, hands up in the universal sign for surrender. "Name yourself and state your business!"

Harry smiled weakly at the man in front of him; he wore a black officer's coat and was clearly in charge of the regiment guarding the house. "Good evening, Captain," Harry winced, not knowing what else to call the man. Frankly, to his mind, it couldn't have been more obvious that he didn't belong here. "I'm just a traveller looking for a bit of warmth and perhaps a dry roof over my head for the night. My horse threw me and I find myself with no provisions or shelter, and the moors are dangerous to those ill-equipped for her harsh nights."

Captain Reynolds eyed him suspiciously, obviously wondering what he was doing in the middle of Scotland with nothing on him and Harry could only sympathise with the poor man and his unfortunate predicament. Harry didn't envy his position in the slightest. "A third stranger in these parts, I don't much like this, but I can hardly turn you away when this is not my house." Captain Reynolds noted, albeit a tad sourly. "Come with me I shall take you to Lord Robert of the Torchwood Estate, may he be the one to send you on your way."

Harry rolled his eyes at the slightly cruel captain, wondering at the man's vindictive nature. It was clearly the wrong time for him, the bayonets, the building (recently built) and the soldiers all told a tale of Harry being misplaced in time; if not space. And he couldn't help but hope that Luna's contingency plans pulled him back into the correct time. It would really suck to be stuck in Victorian England; although looking up Albus Dumbledore as a young man might be amusing. Harry smirked at the thought, entering the front doors of the villa with soundless steps.

The front hall was seemingly poorly lit although the dark panelled wood walls, dark furniture and dark drapes didn't help that assumption much in Harry's opinion. The rough wood floors of the corridors between rooms that Harry now traversed were scuffed from years of use, belying the previous assumption that the building was recently built by quite a bit. Captain Reynolds led Harry to a dining room and knocked swiftly upon the door, the sound was a sharp staccato that had Harry peering interestedly at the door; it did not sound like oak or maple that these doors were usually made of. There was a brief pause before a light voice called out a sharp "enter!" And Captain Reynolds pushed his way inside, dancing around a tall bald servant who seemed immensely out of place.

A long heavy dining table, occupied by two persons, stood in the equally dark room. Harry was getting a bit sick of the Victorian decor; he missed the simplistic styles of the twenty-first century where it was all clean lines and bright, florescent lighting. Much easier to see by when you are an old man of a hundred and thirty. Harry's eyes alighted on a tall man with a balding head of short dark hair and slightly weasel like features; he appeared to be incredibly nervous of his female companion. The lord wore a traditional Victorian suit of dark wool with a white shirt beneath the dark waistcoat and a dark tie about his short neck. The other occupant of the room was a short squat woman who Harry would recognise anywhere, and he swiftly sank into a deep bow.

"Your Majesty, I had no idea." Harry breathed in clear shock; yeah there was no mistaking the era now he thought even as he uttered the traditional greeting of a noble wizard to his queen. "It brings me much honour to be in your presence, Your Grace, may the mother hold you in her arms."

The Lord smiled weakly, a tremor in his jaws and hands making him look ill. "Greetings stranger, what brings you to my halls?" He asked. The Queen blinked in surprise at being recognised so easily and wondered at the strange address he uttered in her presence. She was a pious and God-fearing woman who did not tout with the old pagan religions.

"I seek shelter for the night, my horse has run off with all my baggage and tonight will surely rain." Harry replied his eyes flicking upwards to the lord of the estate while wondering if he could get away with confunding the man in front of him. After all Queen Victoria was a well-known and very powerful witch and even he, vanquisher of two Dark Lord's would hesitate in tangling her.

"Rise stranger." The Queen commanded, cutting across the Lord's stuttered objections, her dark eyes silencing him swiftly. "Sir Robert will grant you rooms here, and you will dine with me tonight should you be well enough to do so. It has been many years since I or my sons have been thrown for a horse but well I remember the head-sore it can cause a man."

Harry swiftly nodded in agreement as he stood an easy smile upon his face as he replied: "It would be my pleasure your Majesty."

"And what shall we call you, traveller." Sir Robert asked his latest guest curiously. Just how many more men and women were on the road this foul evening? How many more would fall to the Priest's devilry?

Harry winced, rubbing a tender spot on his head that he had found when he had run a hand through his hair. A nervous tick that even after a hundred years, he could not suppress. "Harry, my Lord, just Harry." He held no desire to name himself further; he was supposed to be travelling incognito until he was pulled back by Luna II, into what he now supposed was the future.

"Come seat yourself at my side Harry," the Queen said briskly, noting his discomfiture and pain as he stood there looking lost. "Tell us what you do in Scotland."

Harry smiled at her and sank into a chair at her side, Sir Robert quickly following suit his eyes nervously tracing the movements of his bald headed servant and the Queen narrowed her eyes at the sight. It was strange this house, Queen Victoria noted solemnly, filled with darkness and secrets; she would get to the bottom of it tonight, once Sir Robert's other guests had retired for the night.

"I'm travelling around the moors, your Majesty." Harry said with a slight groan of relaxation as he stretched his legs out beneath the table; eyes half-lidded in pleasure. The Queen would have normally rebuked the stranger for his presumption, but up close she could see a smudge of blood at his hair line and so presumed that he deserved to be granted leniency. "I seek to make a definitive guide to the Scottish high and low lands regarding all flora and fauna in and about the country." Harry lied confidently. He knew there would be a book about Scotland written by a Potter in the early 1900's, but his name had been Janus and had been his great-grandfather. The Captain of the Queen's guard was directed to a seat beside him by the Queen, her face stern as she listened to Harry expound upon the works he 'hoped' to complete.

"All scientific works are a great and wonderful way to express our love for God's mighty creations; I commend you, Harry on your enthusiasm and dedication. I look forward to reading the book once it has been completed." Queen Victoria said calmly as there was a knock at the door and a tall man with messy brown hair was directed to enter. "Ah, Doctor, you have found your way."

The man called Doctor smiled brilliantly, a broad grin baring his white teeth. "Yes thank you Your Majesty. Very kind of you to let us stay, Sir Robert." He turned to Harry and blinked in surprise clearly not expecting a fourth person to have joined the Queen to dinner.

"This is Harry; he hopes to create a definitive guide to Scotland's flora and fauna." The Queen said calmly. "Unfortunately for him, but perhaps fortunately for us, his horse threw him and ran off forcing him to seek shelter with Lord Robert here at the Torchwood estate."

The strange Doctor grinned and bounced slightly, "a pleasure to meet a man of science!" The manic man exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically.

"The Doctor here is a medic of great skill." The Queen murmured on an aside to Harry who was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the Doctor's manic joy.

"The Doctor?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu. "Doctor who?"

The Doctor grinned as he swung himself into a seat, all long legs and bony arms, "no, no; just the Doctor."

Harry smiled slightly. "Is it easy, being a definitive like that?" Harry asked, wondering if the Doctor had ever felt like he had. After all, he had been a definitive for most of his life, _The Harry Potter_. It wasn't easy in his estimation, but maybe the Doctor bore the burden better than he had.

The Doctor paused mid-bounce, clearly stunned by the question. "No, I don't suppose it is." He murmured finally, his dark eyes taking in Harry curiously. Who was this man to question at being a definitive, not many (if any) asked that question of him. It was most intriguing to meet a man who thought beyond even he Doctor's expectations.

Harry nodded with a slight smile as the bald Butler came in with wide dishes of soup. Harry sniffed it slightly, his stomach aching with hunger as he did so. His eyes tracked the Butler as he paused by the Doctor's chair; there was something off about that man. He smelt strange, like stagnating water and mildew; extremely wrong and not a little bit frightening.

"I regret to inform you that your companion is still getting dressed and will not be joining you for the first course." The Butler stated. Harry frowned while the Doctor brushed the comment off with a breezy grin; surely the Doctor had noticed the strangeness of the servant. Surely it wasn't just himself.

Something was very much going on in this house, the place stunk of fear and anticipation the servants milling around serving soup and bread for the first course. The scent of fresh cooked bread mixed with the stench of fear, excitement and mistletoe; the last having little place in the situation and caused Harry's nose to water in sympathy. Harry froze quite suddenly his face draining of colour; it _stunk,_ the only time he could smell emotions was when he was close to transforming. A cold shiver ran up his spine as his gaze shot to the window and the clouds parted enough to reveal the full moon behind their trailing shrouds. Harry's spoon fell with a clatter and he shot upright, feeling the fever grip him. Heat pooling in his chest and racing along his suddenly sweaty skin; not now, he prayed, not yet. Pray Merlin that he managed to hide behind closed doors before he lost all control.

"My apologies, I feel quite ill suddenly, please, excuse me." Harry gasped; sweat rolling down his forehead and back. Queen Victoria frowned but excused him, concern shining in her eyes as she watched him stumble out the door; both the plagued man and monarch ignored the Doctor's concerned queries about if he could help. His backside hovering between a seated and standing position above his chair, one arm extended in supplication.

The Doctor sat back down, concern filling his mind and as he wondered why Rose was taking so long to get changed, he exchanged frowns with Sir Roberts who's hands were knotted in his lap and his jaw clenched in terror. Putting it out of his mind, the Doctor returned his attention to the Queen as she made a witty remark that had Captain Reynolds laughing a little too loudly and he smiled tightly. There was something very wrong in this house and he planned to get to the bottom of as soon as Rose re-joined him.

Harry found himself staggering up the stairs in a fugue and he fell into the first room he found. Barring the door with a heavy chair while he managed to find a vial of Wolfsbane potion that he always carried with him whenever he left his home for extended periods of time and downed it swiftly; as he did so, Harry found himself regretting as he always did at this time of the month, his stupid decision to chase Fenrir Greyback in retribution for his crimes after the war. His being a werewolf had been his family's best kept secret, and he felt grateful that he had never passed on the wolf gene to either of his sons or his daughter. It would have been unbearable if he had and Harry had found himself in the unenviable position that Remus Lupin had once occupied; torn between running and celebrating the news of his wife's pregnancy.

Harry fell to his knees, a cry tearing itself from his throat as he doubled up, his bones grinding and splintering beneath the weight of magic and the wolf curse. It was painful but manageable and besides the potion allowed him to keep his mind when he was transformed which allowed him to control his wolfish alter-ego. He wasn't a large wolf, maybe a meter and a half high at the shoulder, Fenrir had been two meters, but Harry never minded being that little bit smaller. It was easier to remain unnoticed by Ministerial officials if you could hide behind trees and bushes. His pitch black fur was thick and bushy as he shook himself, trying to get the damn stuff to lie flat against his spine. Sirius had mentioned once that he could live with a tail as a dog but fleas were absolute murder; personally Harry disagreed, it was the fur that was by far the worst, it itched like nothing else. Mind, fleas didn't trouble werewolves, something about their blood being poisonous to the little suckers.

Harry had no idea how long it had been, but a cry of a wolf tore through the house reverberating along the halls the sound accompanied by the terrified screams of the women and men of the estate. It didn't take a genius to realise that the danger that so haunted these walls had come knocking; and it seemed that Harry was no longer as alone as he had previously presumed. Bolting upright and throwing himself at the door, Harry swept the chair away from the doorway and with a mighty heave, crashed through the heavy wood door. The sound was overlapped by yet another howl and Harry's ears swivelled to track the sound his lips drawing back from the elongated fangs that decorated his narrow jaws in challenge, his green eyes glowing maliciously. Harry was an alpha wolf and he assuredly did not appreciate another stalking his territory and prey.

Harry slunk down the corridor and into a nearby room where he watched in surprise as the Queen, Sir Robert and the Doctor accompanied by a nearly naked blonde girl hurried in from a nearby room. The Queen appeared to be more than slightly shocked at the sight of the large brown wolf that Harry had caught a glimpse of before the door slammed shut. Great yellow eyes and poisonous teeth had gleamed with deadly intent and even now Harry could hear the other wolf's struggle to batter through the heavy wood door, claws scraping deep furrows in the hard wood. The blonde girl spun to the Doctor who appeared to be elated if frightened by these turn of events and Harry blinked in surprise to hear a modern east Londoner accent spill from her pouty lips.

"What do we do?" She demanded of her friend, staring at the door in shock as it shuddered once more under the weight of the ravening beast on the other side.

The Doctor paused, clearly uncertain in the light of a legend stepping from myth and into reality. "We... run!" He decided, bouncing on his toes in an excess of energy. Harry curled his lip in a wolfish smirk, understanding finally, the man's unnaturally manic behaviour earlier. The Doctor was a man of action not domesticity and Harry wouldn't be surprised if questioned, that the Doctor would answer that yes, he really was in his element right now; as he certainly appeared to be.

The blonde stared in undiluted shock at the Doctor, her mouth gaping in obvious horror. "Is that it?!" She exclaimed, throwing a hand about to encompass the room.

The Doctor shot his friend an exasperated glare, frustration filling his narrow features. "You got any silver bullets?" He asked her, nearly sending Harry into peals of chuffing laughter at his tone of voice. He was almost tempted to step from the shadows and scare the blonde into hysterics, perhaps if she got them out of the way now she wouldn't keep asking stupid questions. Even Sir Robert was staring at the blonde in exasperation.

"Not on me, no!" The blonde snapped in reply, clearly understanding the Doctor's position. Harry settled onto his haunches, eyes fixed determinedly upon the still shaking door, fine cracks having appeared in the wood during the intervening discussion. He grinned in anticipation, he would get his fight.

"There we are then, we run." The Doctor said while rolling his eyes. He turned to the Queen who had watched the pair with suspicious eyes and a thin mouth. She was not amused. "Your Majesty, as a Doctor, I recommend a vigorous jog."

The Doctor grinned as he jogged on the spot to demonstrate and Harry nearly choked at the man's presumptuousness before understanding that even a doctor could not order a monarch to run from a foe-beast. Sir Robert scanned the hallway, clearly having sensed that the group was not alone and Harry pinned his ears to his head and slid deeper into the shadows.

"Good for the health." The Doctor continued, still grinning. He held out a hand and practically snatched up the Queens. "Come on!"

The Doctor clung to the Queen's hand and practically tows her from the room; Harry watched them go with distinct pleasure his eyes landing once more upon the straining door and the werewolf behind it. Frowning as the door shudders and stills and then bursting inwards and the brown werewolf tumbles inside the room. Ignoring the viciously snarling black wolf that was backed up in a corner, the brown wolf hurries past and after the Doctor and the Queen and Harry cursed in realisation.

The brown wolf is hunting, it would never see Harry as a threat unless he came between the brown wolf and his meal; a dangerous game in and of itself. Baring his teeth in self-mockery, Harry darted from the room, hard on his opponent's heels. The brown wolf leads Harry a merry chase until the pair reached a stairwell and with a mocking snarl the brown wolf darts up the stairs. Harry howled in rage, understanding too little too late. His opponent is as intelligent as himself and knew that he was there. The alpha in Harry burns with fury and with great leaping bounds, Harry chases the other wolf up the stairs. Above them Harry could hear the Doctor encouraging his companions, his voice egging the brown wolf on and spurring Harry into greater efforts. He would be damned before Queen Victoria became a werewolf; history, his own personal history, would be re-written if she did get bitten.

"Come on! Come on!" The Doctor's voice echoed loudly down a hallway and Harry let out another howl, his voice singing above the deeper roars of the brown werewolf. So close, yet so damn far. Harry barked in annoyance.

Harry crests the stairwell to the sight of the Queen staring at Captain Reynolds who is holding a bayonet primed and ready and targeted at the brown werewolf's head. Harry bares his teeth, this time in rage and realisation, he will be too late to save this brave man's life and he misses the Doctor's stunned expression as he catches sight of the prowling black wolf behind the much larger brown werewolf. A crack echoed down the hall and the brown werewolf reeled backwards, bumping into Harry who takes the chance to sink his fangs into the werewolf's rump and with sharp tugs, tried to drag him back downstairs.

Harry was so intent on his task that his completely missed the blunt paws that smashed down upon his jaws, forcing Harry to release the wolf and stumble backwards in pain and stunned wits. A shout draws Harry's attention back to the Captain and he staggered upright in order to fling himself once more upon the brown wolf's back. The Doctor staring between the brown werewolf and the brave Captain in horror, his mouth moving in a single word that Harry had no trouble identifying: "no."

"Then remove yourself, Ma'am." The Captain directed firmly, assured once more in his position in the Queen's life and Harry had the feeling that he had missed a part of the conversation. The brown wolf approached the corner he hid behind slowly and deliberately and Harry who lay against the opposite wall unnoticed by the Captain, cursed his weak limbs that refused to co-operate; they felt like so much jelly. Just how strong was that foul beast? "Doctor, you stand as Her Majesty's Protector." Captain Reynolds continued, never once looking behind him. "And you, Sir Robert - you're a traitor to the crown."

Captain Reynolds cocked his gun one last time, determination present in ever line of his body and Harry growled in frustration as his paws slipped once more from beneath him. The brown werewolf was so close now, his golden eyes glittering with malicious intent and the Doctor was staring between the predetor and his intended prey with desperation.

"Bullets can't stop it!" The Doctor reminded the Captain fiercely, trying to tug the man away from his fate.

Captain Reynolds bared his teeth in a cold smile. "They'll buy you time. Now, run!"

Harry watched the Captain ready himself; feet firmly planted upon the ground his determination to die for the good of the country present in every line of his face. The group of four have already fled as the brown werewolf rounded the corner; even murderous beasts once bitten are twice shy. Harry tried to launch himself in the path of the brown werewolf only to misjudge his leap and fall short. The sight that greeted his dazed eyes was not pleasant; Captain Reynolds had been shredded, blood seeped steadily from his mortal wounds. Harry had never seen a werewolf that refused to eat what it had killed and wondered at the reasoning behind the brown wolf's cruelty. Lifting his green gaze, Harry watched the brown wolf sniff around the edges of the neighbouring room and he frowned at the beast's unnatural fear that prevented his entry through flimsy wooden doors.

Harry moaned at his aching ribs that throbbed in time with his rapid pulse, the brown wolf had disappeared around the corner; the only indication of his position being the occasional howls and snuffling that could be heard intermitted between the scratching at the wooden panels. Harry heaved himself upright and tracked the brown beast upwards, his nose scenting the air and his eyes gleaming with delight at being able to hunt once more. It had been so long; his children had long since grown up and moved out, no longer willing to set aside time to play as they had as teens with their furry and occasionally violent werewolf father. While none of his grandchildren knew of his affliction and his extended family avoided the topic religiously.

The brown werewolf had climbed the roof its great paws carefully and dexterously moving between slippery tiles and Harry stood anxiously as the wolf tracked its way towards a large dome of glass. The observatory roof would never hold the beast's weight but Harry, despite being unafraid of heights, was nervous of attacking the beast on the roof; it would surely turn out to be an unmitigated disaster. Undecided Harry watched and waited, the brown wolf was now standing in the middle of the glass dome and grinning down at whatever was below him. With a shock of realisation, Harry let out a howl of rage at the wolf managing to skirt whatever prevented it from accessing the library through the doors.

With a massive crash, the wolf broke through the glass and fell into the room below, Harry watched him fall with surprise, baring his teeth in frustration as he did so. Spinning around, Harry bolted along the roof, his ears pricked for the slightest sound. Below him he could hear howls of pain, shrieks of fear and yells of "OUT! OUT! OUT!" and "Come on!" Following the ruckus below him, Harry tracked and backtracked along the roof until he stood below a round protrusion that occupied at least a third of the roof space available. A single window was available and Harry watched as the Doctor and Sir Robert entered, flinging the door open wide and hurrying the Queen and the blonde inside.

"No mistletoe on these doors, your father wanted the wolf to get inside!" The Doctor was exclaiming, his eyes wild with excitement. "Get inside I just need time! Is there any way of barricading this?!"

"Just do your work-" Sir Robert started to shout as Harry backed up and then charged with enough propulsion to crash through the window stunning the four humans in the room. "-and I'll defend it." He trailed off staring at their surprise visitor.

"Oh." The Doctor said in shock, equally surprised at the black wolf's appearance. "Harry?" He inquired.

Harry lolled his tongue out of his gaping jaws, grinning broadly. "_Someone ask for more time?_" He asked, the words coming out in several rumbling whines and growls. The Doctor blinked in surprise once more, surprised that the black wolf was a) able to speak relatively clearly and b) in possession of all its mental faculties.

"Yes." The Doctor finally replied. Harry barked a laugh and flung himself through the door, leaving the blonde girl and the Queen to stare after him before turning upon the Doctor.

"It's either our mysterious guest or Sir Robert, who would you have chosen?" The Doctor demanded as he spun around in a circle, noting the wheel that appeared to be clunky and heavy and the telescope that pointed at the roof. Rose and Queen Victoria stare at him, aghast.

Harry barrelled down the corridor, his great paws stretching out to grip the carpet beneath his claws and then hurling him at great speed at the brown wolf that had just turned the corner. The other wolf was perhaps half again his size in weight and height, but such things only aided in battle between were's; it was ferocity and cunning that could turn the tide of any battle. Virtues that Harry held in spades. Harry halted just out of reach of the other wolf, coldly assessing his opponent; after hours of running and hunting he finally had the other wolf right where he wanted him. Golden eyes gleamed beneath shaggy brows and long fangs curved downwards in the widely gaping mouth and Harry bared his own for the nth time that night: challenge seen and accepted. The brown wolf lunged forwards and Harry's muscles, tightly coiled, released.

With a giant spring that sent him soaring, Harry flung himself forward and slammed with the same force as a battering ram against the brown wolf's side. The pair of werewolves tumbled to the floor, their bodies a fiercely writhing knot of fur, fangs and claws. Blood scented the air and all the time lord could see was the snarling maws of the wolves and their viciously glowing eyes of green and gold. Harry fell back, his thick neck-ruff standing on end as he backed away from his staggering opponent shaking his head to clear the fogging of his eyes; the other wolf was far stronger than any other werewolf Harry had fought and he wondered if he would survive this encounter and thought it unlikely.

Behind him Harry could hear the discussion taking place between the blonde girl, who had been identified as Rose, and the Doctor; both human's cutting across the Queens objections as they fought to save their lives with Sir Robert attending them the best he could. The Doctor paused long enough to stare at Harry as he let out an outraged howl, the brown wolf having picked up his smaller rival teeth bared in a savage grin before he turned away and shot towards the cogs and gears that controlled the telescope.

"Rose!" The Doctor called, dragging his companion's eyes from the terrible fight that occurred just beyond the doorway. "Sir Robert!"

Rose and Sir Robert ran over to the Doctor, standing helplessly at his side as they desperately tried to ignore the various yelps, shouts and howls that were vocalised by the smaller black furred wolf that seemed to be struggling to survive the fight he had initiated. A violent roar was heard before an ominous thud sounded behind them and the Doctor was jolted into action, his terrified brown eyes darting between the open doorway and the frozen Queen.

"Lift it! Come on!" The Doctor encouraged.

It took far too long in the Doctor's frenzied mind, but slowly the telescope began to rise and the ceiling began to part, revealing the crisp cool air of a Scottish autumn evening. Sir Robert grunted as he threw his entire weight behind the wheel, understanding the necessity of the telescope despite not understanding the 'why'. A yelp sounded behind them and the Doctor's eyes darted up long enough to watch the brown wolf standing above the prostrate black wolf, the green eyes defiant even as his death became more likely.

Rose whimpered at the sight and turned to her friend and companion, staring at him in desperation. "Is this the right time for stargazing?" She asked sarcastically, trying to fight against the increasing fear and pressure she felt under the weight of the situation.

The Doctor grinned, grunting as he did so. "Yes, it is." He assured her, shooting Sir Robert a proud look as the gears continued to grind and the man continued to struggle with the terrible weight that was set against them.

"You said this thing doesn't work!" Rose shouted as a single howl rose behind them, too low in timbre to be the smaller black ruffed wolf leaving the knowledge that the brown wolf was free once more to hunt his intended prey. The blonde haired woman shot the Queen a frightened look and watched the older lady raise a crucifix to ward of the evil that stalked her.

"It doesn't work as a telescope because that's not what it is!" The Doctor tried to explain as he and Sir Robert continued to struggle with the mechanism. "It's a light chamber! It magnifies the light rays like a weapon. We've just got to power it up!"

Terrified, Rose felt her wits desert her as she stared down the hall to where the brown wolf stood panting as though it had ran a long distance above a seemingly diminished black furred being. "But there's no electricity!" She cried, feeling horridly scared and worried for the fate of the black wolf, wondering if the beast had survived the terrible pounding it had received from its brown furred counterpart.

The Doctor grunted in reply and turned to the light chamber trying to ignore Sir Robert, who upon realising the Queen's lack of defence, had firmly planted himself between the monarch and the increasingly dangerous threat that had turned its golden eyed attention upon her. Behind the brown wolf the black furred bundle stirred, as if understanding that its task was not yet done.

"OH!" Rose gasped in shocked understanding, finally piecing everything together. "Moonlight! But it needs moonlight! It's made by moonlight!"

"You're seventy percent water but you can still drown." The Doctor shouted, his voice unnaturally loud in the gathering silence. "Come on!" He yelled and Rose darted over to his side, throwing herself against the mechanism that controlled the alignment of the light chamber.

"Come on!" The Docvtor grunted, his face a rictus of concentration.

Beside the struggling pair Sir Robert stepped forwards armed with nothing but his bare fists and glares at the approaching brown furred werewolf. "I committed treason for you; and now my wife will remember me with honour!" He roared, stepping forward to tackle the great wolf with little regard for his own life.

Behind him Queen Victoria closed her eyes in silent anguish and regret, understanding that yet another subject of hers had laid down his life in her protection. The grisly sounds of the wolf's victory turned to a shocked yelp as the battered black wolf flung itself forwards once more upon the heels of his counterpart and slammed his iron jaws upon the other wolfs vulnerable legs. A snap echoed in the air and the Doctor stared in shock at the sight of Harry's jaws spilling with fresh blood and the brown wolf prostrate on the ground and almost whimpering. The bloodied mess of Sir Robert lay on the ground beneath them and Queen Victoria had averted her eyes in Victorian squeamish sensibility.

With a hollow clank the light chamber fell into alignment and the Doctor pulled Rose aside as moonlight filled the chamber and bounced along the prisms on the inside. The brown wolf struggled to its feet once more and made to attack the Queen but Harry rallied once more and howled in defiance and rage, dragging the brown beasts attention to him once again. The Doctor lunged forwards a giant diamond appearing in his hands and he throws it across the ground and Harry watches as the rock skitters to a halt just beneath the prism and channels the light into a single cohesive beam of pure white light. The light hits the brown wolf and lifts the beast up into the air and Harry watches in stunned amazement as the wolf retook human form before his very stunned gaze.

"Make it brighter. Let me go." The wolf-man pleads, his voice tired and weary,

The Doctor slowly walks across to the light chamber and flicks a switch and with a final howl from the wolf form, the creature vanishes and the light fades off. Harry filled with sorrow in the knowledge that the brown beast for all its danger and crazed insanity, was dead lifted his head and howls a long lyrical tribute while the blonde, Rose breathes a huge sigh of relief glad that the whole mess was over.

"Your Majesty? Did it bite you?" The Doctor asked the Queen, noticing her preoccupation with a small cut upon her wrist.

Startled by the Doctor attention, Queen Victoria replied without thinking: "No, it's... it's a cut." Her voice was breathless and relieved at having survived the past night.

"If that thing bit you…" The Doctor said his voice was wary and Harry found himself sharing in the strange man's concern, frowning lightly at his many times great-grandmother. If the Queen of England became a werewolf there was no telling how history might change; or if he would even be born.

"It was a splinter of wood when the window in library came apart." The Queen dismissed swiftly, no longer interested in defending herself to the strange doctor who had just saved her life. Because saviour or not, she was the Queen and he had no business questioning her authority.

Biting his lip in thought the Doctor held out his hand, concern shining in his brown eyes. "Let me see."

The Queen straightened as best she could, her eyes frosting at the perfunctory tone the Doctor took. "It is nothing." She snapped frostily.

The Doctor stared at the Queen in disbelief, to Harry's narrowed gaze the Doctor obviously did not believe her but manage to refrain from saying so and Harry huffed in annoyance. Apparently all queens were incapable of bending their necks to ask for help, even if they needed it. It was that sort of thinking that nearly got Queen Elizabeth II killed during the Dark Lord Nautica's' uprising. Although she could have been forgiven for not taking the Dark Lord seriously, even Harry had been hard pressed to not die laughing when he first heard the dark wizards chosen title.

* * *

Harry stood in the library as he waited for the sun to rise above the horizon; the ruined interior of the Torchwood estate showed the full extent of the battle between the alien werewolf and the Doctor and Harry was hard pressed not to admire the man, it was obvious that the Doctor did this sort of thing regularly and without expectation of any kind of thanks. Green eyes lingered upon the mist that wreathed the valley before heat began to travel up his spine, pooling as it always did in his chest, head and stomach. He fell to his knees with a subtle groan and shut his eyes, lips firmly pressed together.

Behind the green-eyed wizard a tall lanky man stepped through the doorway, brown eyes intent on the strange change that was occurring before him. Harry barely whimpered, the only sound that alerted his watcher to the obvious pain that he was in was the audible grind of his bones and the occasional snap of ligaments as they realigned the man's shape from wolf to human. The black fur receded into the man's spine and limbs writhed unnaturally and the Doctor winced in tacit sympathy. The change Harry was going through appeared to be more than a little painful.

Finally the heat subsides and Harry is able to think beyond the excruciating pain that he has just weathered. Sighing heavily he forces himself upright, stooping to retrieve the clothing that he had fetched from the room that Sir Robert had assigned him. Was it only last night? Harry wasted little time in pulling on his white button down shirt and black slacks that were styled in the latest of wizarding fashion. Over the top of his white shirt he pulled a black and green brocaded waistcoat and in a fit of rebelliousness, forwent the stiff dragon hide shoes decided to sprawl upon the floor instead. His wand was bound to his wrist by a wand-holder and feeling slightly more presentable, Harry turned just enough to acknowledge the Doctor who watched him from the doorway.

"Do you always act the peeping tom or that a new development?" He asked dryly despite not being all that fussed. He was over a hundred, what did he have to fear from young men watching him get dressed?

The Doctor smirked as he crossed the room and seated himself beside the other man, amused at his sally. "I only peep when things are interesting." The Doctor replied, feeling oddly at ease with the dark haired man beside him. "You're not from this time are you?"

"Nope," Harry agreed, nonchalantly peering at his fingernails and flaring his nostrils as he analysed the strange man's scent. It was driving him mad! It smelt like nothing Harry had ever smelt. It was age, pain, anger and something Harry was tempted to label compassion. "Nor are you, friend; but then I rather doubt you are human either going from your scent." Harry's brows furrowed in confusion to the time lord's amusement. "Never in all my years have I scented anything like it."

And didn't that just frustrate him?

The Doctor blinked in mild surprise, he supposed that the green-eyed man would be able to tell his 'alien-ness' after having met humans. "Nor are you human so let us cease this game and speak frankly." The Doctor stated firmly, unwilling to believe that the man beside him could possibly be human. Humans could not change their shape, they could not smell 'strangeness' nor could they do anything that this wolf-man could.

"Not human?" Harry asked blankly. "I assure you Doctor, I am very human. Born and raised in London, went to school in Scotland and can trace my lineage all the way to the Roman Conquest of Albion."

The Doctor stared at his oddball companion and wondered if he wasn't mistaken for the first time in his nine hundred years; but surely no human could do the things this man had done. "Who are you?"

"No one you know." Harry deflected too involved in the puzzle the Doctor's words presented. The Doctor claimed that he couldn't be human because of all that Harry had spoken in relation to himself; Queen Victoria had been genuinely surprised to see a werewolf when Harry knew that she had been nearly assassinated by three weres not four years prior to this date. Was it possible that he hadn't just left the wrong time behind? Rifts were, from what he understood, gateways to other times; maybe other worlds as well?

The Doctor's keen hearing could hear his companion's breathing pick up and a faint sheen of sweat coated his brow and knew that the man had just thought of something that frightened him. "What is it?" He asked, eyes searching the other man's face.

"Nothing," Harry replied shakily, he had no desire to present this man his weakness just yet. Over a hundred years as a teacher, fighter, and auror had taught him the value of keeping ones cards close to ones chest. "Who are you then, if you are not human?"

The Doctor, well educated in human evasion, knew that Harry would speak no more of his origins this day and wondered if the strange green-eyed man would join he and Rose in the TARDIS. "I am the Doctor, a Time Lord."

"Time Lord?" Harry asked curiously, sniffing the Doctor's arm that was closest to him. "Is that why you smell so strange?"

"Strange?" The Doctor asked, unsure if he should be embarrassed, angry or offended by the question. "How am I strange?"

"You smell of age, loneliness, anger and pain." Harry replied, his eyes distant as he sorted through the scents that rolled off the Doctor like an incoming tide. "Danger as well, threat and rage; you are a predator, Doctor and one I would not like to fight."

The Doctor closed his eyes in pain; squeezing his eyelids shut tightly and wondered if he would ever escape the pain of losing his people. "I have lost-"

"More than you could readily admit, I would wager." Harry cut in, his eyes incredibly compassionate as he stared at the man by his side. "But you equally smell of kindness, the protectiveness a bitch wolf holds for her pups and a compassion for those around you; even your enemies I should think. You are not a bad man, indeed your light and goodness shines from you like a beacon in the dark. You remind me of a friend of mine, he too bore more than the average man and was both reviled and beloved for it and in the end he stood alone but for a young boy who held him dearest in his heart; one who would gladly call him grandfather had times not been different and war not upon them."

"He died?" The Doctor couldn't help but ask, assuming that the man beside him was the boy spoken of.

"Sadly yes, but he lived a long and full life for all that he was held to an impossible standard." Harry murmured reaching out with one hand and tangling his fingers with the Doctor's. "Sometimes all we need in life is a friend and a hand to hold when the day turns to night."

The Doctor laughed delightedly at that, understanding what Harry was trying to say and he grinned manically at the younger man. "You are much older than your age suggests."

Harry's eyes dimmed, he had seen himself in the mirror earlier, the glamour's that hid his youth had fallen away in transit and he could only assume that everyone had seen his apparent youthfulness earlier last night. "Appearances can be deceiving, Doctor." Was all he said in reply, amusement gleaming behind his green eyes.

The Doctor stared at the younger man in surprise, wondering what Harry could mean when the green-eyed man disentangled himself from the Doctor's grip and stood; pausing in his exit only long enough to pull on his boots and great coat, tying his tie as he left the room with a jaunty wave. The Doctor sat on the floor, staring out the window across the Scottish moors with hazy eyes that were lost in contemplation as he thought upon the dark haired, green eyed mystery that walked the halls of Torchwood Manor. Behind him Rose slipped into the room, taking in the lazy posture of her friend and travelling companion with bemused eyes; how the Doctor could relax after the night they had just had was beyond her comprehension.

"Doctor?" Rose's hesitant voice broke through the time lord's reverie and he turned his head enough to smile at her, keeping on eyes on the quietly misty valley. "The Queen want's us in the Hall. It looks like everyone's going to be there."

The Doctor smiled and jumped upright snatching up Rose's hand and feeling a sense of loss that it wasn't Harry's. "Well then, we'd better not be late!"

Laughing, Rose allowed herself to be dragged behind the manic Doctor revelling in his laid back attitude and good humour. It had been so long since they had laughed like this, she thought, grinning madly. Things hadn't been the same since Sarah Jane and Rose was glad that she was getting her Doctor back. All his brilliant smiles and manic joy; it was like coming home after a long day.

* * *

Harry leant against the funny blue box that stood out against the landscape like a sore thumb, his green eyes fixed determinedly upon the duo that were laughing and joking as they walked towards him. The Doctor's voice soared across the moors like a clear toned bell, all good humour and ridiculous joy and Harry smiled at the sight. A man like the Doctor, for all his losses and pains, should never be sad long.

"Could be!" The Doctor exclaimed as he made his way up the hill to the TARDIS, not having noticed the lanky stranger that leant against her side.

Rose stared at him incredulously, puffing slightly from the exertion. "Queen Victoria's a werewolf?"

"Could be! And, her children had the Royal Disease. Maybe she gave them a quick nip." The Doctor joked, fishing out the key to his beloved time ship feeling her amused hum at the back of his mind. He grinned broadly at Rose's look of disbelief.

"So, the Royal Family are werewolves?" Rose asked, clarifying what she thought the Doctor was saying.

"One can only hope not." Harry drawled cutting across the Doctor's reply and drawing eh time lords gaze.

"Harry!" The Doctor exclaimed leaping forwards to drag the stunned man into a hug. "I thought you'd left without saying goodbye!"

Harry grunted and smirked. "And let you run off and get into more trouble, time lord? I think not."

Rose gaped between the two men, slightly put out that the Doctor was ignoring her. "Sorry, but who are you?"

Harry turned to the pretty blonde muggle and held out a hand. "Harry Black, Miss. And you?"

"Rose Tyler." Rose answered with a blush as Harry swept her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Harry shot her a rakish grin and winked, sending Rose into a deeper shade of red despite Harry's amusement.

"Harry Black?" The Doctor commented cheekily. "And here I thought I'd never get a last name out of you."

Harry barked a laugh and raked a hand through his wild black hair. "Yes well, I have several so I might as well use them."

The Doctor's eyebrows rose in surprise at that admission before focussing on something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while. "Why did you help us? You could have died."

"Anyone could die at any time, Doctor; you ought to know that at your age." Harry said calmly. "As for why, suffice to say that I have a vested and _personal_ interest in Queen Victoria's survival."

"Personal, how?" The Time Lord asked curiously. Harry just smirked and tapped the side of his nose winking as he did so. The Doctor barely refrained from cursing in Gallifreyan, and he only managed that because he knew the value of information. Harry was a puzzle that just refused to co-operate.

"Until next time Doctor," Harry fare welled, waving a jaunty hand and swaggering off back down the hill leaving the Doctor and Rose staring after him. "Perhaps we shall meet again sometime; we are bound to after all, time traveller."

The Doctor stared after the strange man in frustration and refrained from stamping his foot. "Now that is Class A enigmatic." The Doctor noted with some annoyance.

"Who was he, Doctor?" Rose asked.

"No idea, but apparently we'll meet again if he is to be believed. Time travel, anything could happen." The Doctor grinned as he pushed open the TARDIS' doors. "But almost everyone in the United Kingdom ends up in London at some stage."

"And the TARDIS loves London!" Rose added excitedly as she followed the time lord inside, grinning at the thought of meeting the enigmatic Harry once more. "What did he mean by personal and vested interest?"

"No idea." The Doctor admitted, running over the wording Harry had used in his mind. "But… No… Surely not?"

"What?" Rose asked as she moved to grab the TARDIS' centre console with both hands, staring at the Doctor in confusion.

"Werewolves!" The Doctor shouted as he slammed the break down.

"What?!" Rose shouted, over the sound of the TARDIS de-materialising.

"Harry is a werewolf!"

"SO IS VICTORIA!" Rose shouted in sudden understanding. "Are you just saying we met a future royal?"

The Doctor shot Rose a broad grin and roared with manic laughter and Rose, realising the ridiculousness of her extrapolation, joined in. Before long the Doctor lets out a howl and Rose shrieks with laughter, neither friend believing what both knew to be true. Harry Black was related to Queen Victoria and was a werewolf; life couldn't get any stranger than that!

* * *

**A/N**

_Please note I have no Beta and thus any and all mistakes are my own fault and have been overlooked while I was editing; if you, the Reader, spot any of these errors please let me know and I shall endeavor to correct them. Kind regards, __Sar'Kalu_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Aliens, Snowmen and Impossible Girls

**[1880]**

Harry had been rambling for months now; the Scottish moors had given way to the rolling green hills of West Anglia and the untamed wilderness to fields of coppice and neat and ordered lanes. It was nowhere near as domestic as the land would be in a hundred years but it was not the uncultivated rocky stretch that pre-Roman Britain would have been like. Or so Harry imagined. It was easy to get around out here, buy a horse using transfigured gold pieces and then sit on its back like a sack of potatoes while desperately trying to assure the equine beast that a) you didn't want eat it and b) you knew what you were doing as you sat unsurely in the stiff leather saddle.

Actually Harry felt as though he was doing rather well, it couldn't be more obvious that magic didn't exist here and that he appeared to be many, many decades younger than he was. Not that this meant that he would be attempting to apparate any time soon, he was forbidden it after all. Healers, nasty bastards with a sadistic streak a mile wide; and don't let anyone tell you any different. Smirking to himself, Harry leant backwards, the creak of the leather saddle the only noise upon the three mile stretch of mud, ruts and grass before him. London was fifty miles distant and he felt an odd pull towards that city; perhaps in the hope that he would see something let alone anything familiar to his eyes. Although Harry had to profess to being sad at never tasting the homebrew firewhiskey that the Cauldron sold on cold winter nights, the open fire pulling in a cheery crowd of regulars who were more than willing to overlook his famous lightning bolt scar and luminous green eyes.

The days quickly past in a haze of creaking leather, muddy hoof beats and a mild addiction to rum that could be found hanging from the saddle bow beside Harry, his green eyes lidded and lazy as he watched the mad and desperate eke out a poor living at the side of the road. Any sympathy for the poor of the Victorian era had long since left his noble-born mind when he'd been held up for a ransom of three hundred pounds. As if anyone carried that kind of money on them when travelling with nought but a saddle cloth for a blanket and a cloak to keep the weather off. He should have run the bastards through. Still, Hermione's ever-present voice as his conscience had disallowed that brief thought and had simply allowed him to run the foul smelling cretins off the road with a swift boot to his horse's rump. Hades hadn't been pleased to say the least; the dun gelding having little appreciation for any kind of exercise. Hades was much like Harry in that regard.

**X**

Harry's arrival in London went mostly unnoticed as he sold his horse for a few silvers at the _Rose and Crown_ in East London. The kind brown eyed lass who worked there was more than happy to set him up for the night free of charge; or at least, a mild fee that was taken from the price of his horse. Admittedly Harry didn't inquire too closely; he was simply pleased to have a roof over his head and bath drawn for him, regardless of the decreasing temperature. The room could even be called fine, if one discounted the thin linens and faded drapes but he had paid for comfort, not finery and frankly after sleeping in a ditch or beneath various wagons Harry wasn't too picking in his lodgings; grinning broadly at anyone and everyone who stood in his way.

Elsie laughed at Harry stumbling thanks, watching the wild haired man's body shake so violently that she was fairly surprised to see him still standing. Bob watched the strange stagger up the stairs with frozen feet and wondered at what was so important that a young gentleman was driven to abandoning home and hearth in the middle of winter. It was mighty strange that was for sure and the innkeeper kept a weathered eye upon the man when he returned from his bathing in a fresh suit of dark wool and a bright grin upon his clean face. Elsie flirted shamelessly with the gentleman but not once did the man rise to her quips or witty remarks, preferring to laugh boisterously instead that brilliant grin forever splitting his face in his delight.

"So where've you come from then, eh?" Elsie asked their stranger with such bright eyes and grinning teeth.

Harry tossed his head back and regarded the waitress with brilliant green eyes as he grinned that wide, broad grin of his and Bob was forced to admit that the man had yet to overstep his bounds and that Elsie, should anything happen, would undoubtedly have asked for it. Despite the over flirting and innuendo that had been passed back and forth the green-eyed man had yet to make a move.

"Nowhere I haven't been before," Harry replied, draining his ale with ease. That was another thing; Harry never answered a question straight, as if he was running from a horrible past that he held no desire to return to. It was incredibly odd.

Elsie rolled her soft brown eyes and turned away, meeting Bob's eyes with ones filled with frustration and confusion. Moving to her employers side, Elsie frowned with an odd sort of sourness to her expression and they watched as the lanky young gentleman slunk back upstairs to his room, leaving the common room that bit dimmer for his absence; the regular patrons having laughed louder, longer and more joyfully when the youth had been there beside them swilling their cheap ale to the tune of a second rate bard.

"What's up with him, then?" Elsie demanded with some annoyance, staring after their strange but kind guest with what could only be described as disappointment.

"No idea luv, but you're getting ideas above your station again." Bob rumbled in reply, running a dish-cloth around the rim of a newly cleaned tankard. Bob was a strong man with kind blue eyes who cared for all his workers with a passion rivalling the passion that he ran his inn with. His thick body was always dressed in the same white smock and tan pants and Elsie shot him a sour look, her dissatisfaction with her way of life couldn't have been more obvious than at that moment.

"What, like Clara does?" Elsie scoffed at the idea. "Let me tell you Bob Cooper I ain't getting no ideas above my station; I'm far too old for fairy tales!"

Bob snorted in mild disbelief but allowed his server's words to wash over him like water off a ducks back. He held no account for the strangeness of women-folk and he had no understanding for those who would prefer to work as a butcher or God forbid a factory worker above being an innkeeper or server. As if there was no finer work for people to do than the jobs they did at _the Rose and Crown_.

"Sure you ain't, Elsie." Bob grunted rolling his eyes and turning away from her. "But regardless of what you or I think there are tankards that need filling and coins that need collecting. So get to it lass."

Elsie huffed in aggravation once more but refrained from replying to Bob's evident relief and flounced off to serve tankards of beer to the drunken revellers that howled for it like the uncouth lechers they were. Victorian values of prudishness and propriety only extended so far down the social ladder and _the Rose and Crown_ was not so up market that they didn't get the odd shifty customer who would prefer to flip skirts than pay his tab. It was people like this that had Bob reaching for the cudgel beneath his bar and kept his arms as beefy as oak trees.

Harry lay upon his pallet in the Rose and Crown and listened to the hubbub below with half an ear, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord one hand always resting on the blunt nosed dagger that he had pilfered from a housewife in Leeds. The serving wench downstairs, Elsie(?), had been pretty enough but despite being in a different time and (what he suspected was) a different universe he could not so easily forget Ginny, who despite divorcing him nearly two decades ago on amicable if irretrievable terms, was his first love. Ginny hadn't appreciated his lack of responsibility when it came to his health or his inability to settle down. Apparently a life time of running around after a childhood with no stability could screw a man up; they really should have seen that one coming. Couple that with the fact that he was a werewolf and well frankly the divorce was practically unavoidable in retrospect.

Sighing heavily, Harry allowed his eyes sink and his consciousness to float off into Morpheus' arms. Time enough tomorrow to decide what he was going to do in Victorian London. For now though he would sleep and regain what little strength he had left and hope to hell and back that Luna II figured out what had gone so wrong and haul his semi-frozen backside to the universe where he belonged. By Merlin he missed his family.

* * *

**[1891]**

By all rights he should be older than the eighteen years he appeared, in fact even if one took into account the strangeness that was the magical world Harry should be well and truly dead by now. At a hundred and sixty years old (or so) Harry looked remarkably well and hale; in fact one might even mistake him for being barely able to hold his liquor instead of being responsible for the half a dozen pints that surrounded him. However the crowd at the _Stag and Lion_ well knew the young Black's drinking habits now and a few of the old timers watched him with something akin to awe for none of them had ever been able to down sixteen pints of lager or ale at Black's age without hurling for hours afterwards.

Harry however, did not drink for the pleasure of the old timers or the profit of the _Stag and Lion_, he drank to forget that he himself had been forgotten or was so out of reach that it didn't matter whether he was remembered or not. It had been eleven years since his arrival in London and he had all but forgotten the manic Doctor with crazy brown hair or the young blonde girl he travelled with. He had almost forgotten, in his despair, the events that had led to him being stranded in Victorian London with nothing but a few coppers in his pocket to speak of the long, lonely hours spent slogging away in a factory. A place where he knew the cruelty of fists, tongue and feet better than the kindness of a gentle hand and soft touch and Harry, as he stared into the bottom of his thirteenth ale, wondered just what his life had become.

The man who had been known as the Saviour, the Legendary Harry Potter had become nothing more than a drunken bum who subsisted on the intermitted kindness of poor barkeeps and serving girls in an era where weakness wasn't tolerated in the slightest. Worse was the curse he bore, he had run out of wolfsbane years ago and had to lock himself up in the cellar of his housekeeper all the while praying to the Mother that he would not be found and killed by the Victorian sensibilities that so got him into trouble. Green eyes lifted enough to scan the pub, gleaming with savage threat as they landed upon a woman veiled all in black; even her dress was that immutable shade and Harry's lips lifted in a bare snarl, fear thrilling through him. This one had hunted him for the past two weeks, stalking his every known haunt and watching him with a mixture of disgust and curiosity on her scaled face.

Oh, Harry knew who she was, the Veiled Detective, a lizard woman blighted by the unnaturalness of alien-kind and he wondered if she might know the manic Doctor who had been responsible for the first known cure of lycanthropy in living memory. The lizard woman stood and made her way out the door knowing better than he that he would follow her. If only to grasp at answers that hovered beyond his comprehensive reach. Harry stood and made to follow, pausing only long enough to throw three silver coins that more than covered his tab and staggered in a show of drunkenness from the inn. He wouldn't be followed, all knew who he followed and none held any sort of curiosity that could bear the possibility of losing their lives.

The slick streets were filled with pooling light as the Veiled Detective led the sodden drunk down an alleyway, pausing long enough to sweep the black lace veil from her face. Her green eyes were dull in comparison to his own and she was not as tall as he but there was something in her gait that suggested danger and wariness to her follower. Harry bared his teeth in a feral grin and watched with subtle pleasure as her eyes widened in surprise at the threat such an action carried.

"You are not of this world." The woman claimed her voice strident and confident as she looked upon the wild-haired werewolf before her. "From where do you hail from?"

Harry barked a sardonic laugh and cocked his head to the side much like a curious hound might when confronted with something it didn't know whether to play with or hunt and was considering both options carefully. "You are not the first to ask me that question nor will you be the last," he non-answered, cunning green eyes sliding across her features. "One must admit to wondering at your own origin, Lady Detective."

"Then you know me." She said lightly, dancing around the topic she wanted answered but was unsure how to approach after the first gentle refusal. "What is your name stranger?"

"Harry; and your own?" Harry asked as he leant against a rain wet wall ignoring the rain drops that railed like icy fingers down his shirt.

The Veiled Detective considered the man across from her carefully noting the lines of despair and weariness that creased his apparently youthful face and wondered at their origin. "Vastra, a Silurian lizard woman from the dawn of time," came her reply, deciding to trust this strange man in light of his evident strange weariness; so like the Doctor's.

Harry regarded Vastra and accepted the sally for what it was, an overture of friendship and trust. "Harry James Potter," He admitted to more in that one sentence than in any other; if one knew the tale behind his name that was. "A human from a parallel world or so I presume from what I have observed."

"Presume?" Vastra asked keeping a remarkably level head in the revelation that the man before her was both human and from a parallel world; the Doctor would be intrigued when he- if he ever found out.

"I have observed this place for the same markers that occurred in my world and have found none." Harry replied nonchalantly, peering at his nails in a show of disinterest that Vastra could guess he was anything but. "For one there is no magic, only science and religion which is a poor trade in my mind; worse is the lack of… restriction that I am used to. I have neither kith nor kin in this place and so find myself at a loss."

"A sad tale to be sure," Vastra replied seriously, understanding better than the green-eyed man might think his position as a sole survivor of a lost race; whether that loss is war, parallel dimensions or the intervening ages.

"As all tales are when you have neither beginning nor end." Harry replied coolly, his voice frosting over as he detected a hint of pity in Vastra's tone. "Why have you sought me out, Vastra the Silurian?"

"I have sought you out for no crude reason you may be assured, but word of your affliction has reached my ears, though just what your affliction might be even I can only guess." Vastra began noting the steady stiffening of her conversational companion's shoulders. He was threatened by this line of inquiry; she would have to be careful. "Nonetheless one must profess to be curious at this strangeness that haunts you and one wonders if one can offer any aid to the one with the affliction."

Harry smirked at Vastra's careful wording and knew that the Silurian had a point in that he could not remain where he was for much longer, indeed his time in London would be running short soon what with his apparent inability to age. "If one asked the one offering aid for lodging would the one doing the offering accept the one doing the asking when the one doing the offering understood the nature of the one doing the asking's affliction?"

Vastra blinked rapidly at that mind bending sentence before understanding Harry's words, "of course."

"My thanks," Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and he grinned broadly at Vastra who returned the brilliant expression with a slightly more reserved smile.

"Well then, now that is sorted, shall we adjourn to my lodgings and discuss this affliction of yours?"

Vastra barely waited for a reply, instead sweeping off with long strides and Harry scurried briefly in order to keep up. As the tall man followed the lizard woman through London's muddy streets he felt a disturbance in the air that he could account for being a change in the wind. Something was coming and Harry knew that he would be right in the thick of it when it did. As Vastra mounted the steps of a newly built Victorian town house in one of the better neighbourhoods in London, harry grinned at the thought of fighting the good fight once more. It had been so long and he had felt so lonely; now he had a partner and a cause. He could barely keep the grin from splitting his face.

"Who are you girl? Are you trespassing? I'll have you strung up by your thumbs and your thin human hide flayed from your bones!"

"Strax!"

* * *

**[1891]**

Strax didn't know what to make of the new human stray that Madame Vastra had picked up; the man was brutally honest, cruelly sarcastic and addicted to the harsh alcohol called Rum. His green eyes were shadowed by terrors of his past and even the Sontaran nurse found himself leery of Harry on the days where his mouth was set in thin lines and deep furrows marked his youthful brow. Only Vastra could get through to Harry on these black days and even then only when she could find him. Harry took brooding to a whole new level and it was scary to see those piercing green eyes drawn together beneath dark brows, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace as yet another client stole through the darkened library that he had claimed as an infrequent hiding spot.

Worse than these common black moods was Harry's propensity towards drinking irresponsibly; as in heavily and in great excess. His tendency toward picking up his half-empty bottle of amber rum and staggering down wet city streets while muttering in languages that Strax didn't understand was frightening. Not that Harry was unable to take care of himself but rather that he shouldn't have to. Strax occasionally accompanied him on these jaunts trying, to the best of his ability, to keep the sorrowing man away from the frequent brawls that occurred in the areas that the green-eyed man frequented. His muddy brown eyes watched Harry in awe as the thin man packed away yet another pint and setting the pewter mug down on the table in front of him. It joined the collection of twenty that already occupied the scuffed wooden surface of the bar.

Black by name, black by nature, that was what Jenny called Harry and the green-eyed man's sardonic smile at the phrase brought to mind a lazy shark who wasn't overly bothered at the appearance of a seal in front of it, but should that seal drift any closer…

No, Strax didn't know what to make of Harry Black, Madame Vastra's latest stray, but he certainly liked the man and admired the way he comported himself in a fight. Even Vastra and Jenny were impressed by Harry's deductive and detective skills, his uncanny ability to read human emotions and understand human motive was almost unparalleled. Harry's skills had already turned over the rock on three opium dens, four murder cases and one infidelity case between the Duke and Duchess of Kent; that one had apparently been well described in the high society papers. All in all, Harry made things far easier for Madame Vastra and the Paternoster Gang which Strax, in his Sontaran way, was very appreciative of.

In fact, the only problem Strax held with Harry Black was that on the full moon of every month he shed thick black fur like you wouldn't believe!

* * *

**[1892]**

When Harry returned to the Paternoster Estate for Christmas from Manchester he did not expect to be bowled over by the excitable Strax as he all but tore Harry's coat from his shoulders and hurried him into the warmly lit conservatory. Jenny stood behind a shorter brown haired woman, her hair dressed neatly in a bun as she stared at Vastra with an expression akin to nervous excitement as she stated a single word.

"Man."

Vastra shot Jenny a wary look and Jenny, ever hopeful and optimistic, nodded her head furiously eyes alight with an incomprehensible emotion. Harry had been away from London for over a year now and he had been out of contact while chasing various miscreants in and around Northern England. The police seemed to be constantly out of their depth necessitating in his services being called on; if Harry wasn't paid handsomely for each contract he would have complain voraciously at the workload.

"We are the Doctor's friends." Vastra began, cutting through Harry's thoughts and surprising the werewolf with her frankness with the other woman. The Doctor had appeared on the Paternoster's doorstep nearly ten months ago and not once had he come up in casual conversation with a client. "We assist him in his isolation but that does not mean we approve of it." Vastra's tone was cool and one could not read approval or disapproval in its frigid tones and the client appeared to be mildly apprehensive as she stared at the Silurian in front of her.

"So… a test for you," Vastra continued, this time her tones slightly warmer as she stared expectantly at the woman in front of her and Harry wondered if this woman would be the Doctor's newest companion. She certainly appeared to be more intelligent than Rose had close to thirteen years ago. "Give me a message for the Doctor. Tell him all about the snow and what fresh danger you believe it presents, and above all, explain why he should help you." The client took a deep breath, leaning forwards to speak only to be cut off by Vastra's finger.

"But do it in one word. You are thinking it is impossible that such a word exists, or that you could even find it. Let's see if the gods are with you."

**X**

"And precisely what was the point of that test?" Harry drawled as he swaggered into the room, his suit rumpled by hard travel and even harder liquor consumed in the saddle. Harry still hadn't given up his drunken ways, no matter how much Jenny threatened his manhood or life. Indeed if Vastra hadn't found the green-eyed man's antics amusing or Strax grateful that there was one with whom he could relax and be himself with, Harry held no doubts that he wouldn't be so fondly regarded by the Paternoster gang at all. As it was he was apparently too indispensable in his various skill-sets and general all-round usefulness to be truly harmed by Jenny's exasperation.

Vastra nearly jumped from her skin at the sudden voice behind her and Jenny bit back a small smile; of all her compatriots only Harry was the one to surprise her so often and with such obvious results. As it was, the silurian caught the werewolf's smirk and bit back a foul curse, understanding that Harry was nearly three times her age and as such nearly irreverent of everyone around him. He had seen most things and done even more and she still didn't know everything about him.

"Harry." Jenny greeted the wizard with a fondly exasperated look knowing that no censure on his behaviour would change his irascible ways. "Where've you been? We've been worried sick!"

"Sorry luv, I got caught up with paperwork." Harry replied sprawling as he did so into the chair beside Vastra to the Silurian's vague amusement his eyes glowing with mirth as Jenny stood over him like a short loveable mother hen. Having never had a mother barring the ferociously overprotective Mrs. Weasley, Harry found Jenny's infuriated affection heart-warming and he shot her his biggest grin hoping that the sight would melt her anger.

Jenny sneered slightly although the expression held no true irritation. "Is that what they're calling it now? Paperwork?"

"I have no idea what you're on about," Harry slurred slightly, his lack of sleep catching up with him and Jenny pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, Harry was nearly impossible to deal with in this state; how Strax dealt with the bastard on full-moon nights was beyond her. He was damn near impossible.

"I need to make a phone call." Vastra announced as she made her way over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"Strax mentioned something about the Great Intelligence, isn't that old Simeon's gig down in Kensington?" Harry drawled his head lolling behind him as he listened to the dial tone that sang in the silence and he lifted his head enough to catch the exasperation evident on both Vastra and Jenny's faces. "What?"

"Nothing," Vastra bit out, exchanging a sour glance with Jenny and dialling a number with shocking ease. The call was picked up after three rings, harry smirked at the Doctor's inability to keep his nose clean. No interfering, my saggy left testicle, he grunted to himself missing Jenny's vexation at his irreverent behaviour; he was a grumpy old man in the fullest sense of the term and Jenny, for all her constant irritation at his conduct knew this better than most.

"_Yes, what? I'm trying to read!_" Came the irritable voice over the receiver. Another grumpy old man railing at the world, Harry mused fishing a pewter hipflask from his pocket and swilling the God-awful rum inside; _well that was truly an inferior vintage_ he coughed shooting the silvery exterior a disgusted glare. Jenny smirked at his stunned coughing, _serves him right_.

Vastra sighed speaking lowly to her old friend and pointedly ignoring the potent fumes of the nearly green alcohol that Harry was downing like it was water. "Miss Clara and her concerns about the snow; I gave her the one-word test."

"Bloody pointless that." Harry mumbled almost missing the Doctor's equally irritable reply: "_Always pointless; what did she say? Well? Well?_"

"Pond."

**X**

It was times like these that Harry wondered how the Doctor kept on living. The Darkover family stood huddled by the grave, the overcast sky casting no light upon the surrounding area and it was painfully evident that the trio were grieving hard for their lost governess. Vastra was standing beside the Doctor who waited just behind the family, patiently awaiting his turn to pay his respects at the grave side of brave Clara. Jenny and Strax were silent and taciturn, both likely wondering if this latest loss would send the Doctor even further into his grief and Harry sympathised with their worry even as he knew that there was no basis for it.

The Doctor's eyes spoke of determination and rage, no he was not listlessly waiting for someone to save him, he was beyond railing at the unfairness of life the universe and everything. The Time Lord was filled with a self-righteous rage even as he stood firmly before the storm that was coming. Harry felt invigorated just watching him and felt like lifting his head and howling with exultation, knowing that the universes greatest saviour was back in business and would be unlikely to leave again.

Vastra turned to the Doctor, noting with some surprise the bow tie at his throat and wondered if Harry would cease skulking in the shadows and meet with the grieving time lord. Her green eyes were distant as she thought upon all that had just occurred and found herself pondering the Great Intelligence, the Doctor had said that the snow was sentient; precisely what did that mean?

"And what about the Intelligence?" Vastra finally spoke, breaking the hesitant silence and she felt Harry shift in curiosity behind her; the werewolf had missed quite a bit his time locked up in the cage in the Paternoster's basement. It was only natural that he be curious as to why he was attending a funeral for a girl he had never met let alone seen. "Melted with the snow?

The Doctor barely shifted his gaze as he replied, his voice almost flat with disinterest at their conversation. "No, I shouldn't think so. It learned to survive beyond physical form."

"Well, we can't be in much danger from a disembodied Intelligence that thinks it can invade the world with snowmen." Jenny said trying to invoke some humour in those big sad eyes of the man beside her; Strax managed a small smile before it slid from his face as he realised the impropriety of his actions and his brown eyes filled with faded sadness. Sontaran's found little to be sad in funerals, they were a warrior race after all and well used to death and dying for causes not their own.

"Or that the London Underground is a key strategic weakness;" Vastra smirked feeling Harry's surprised amusement swell behind her and wondered at her sudden sensitivity to her friends moods and why he hadn't revealed himself to the Doctor yet. Perhaps the grumpy old man had learnt something of tact in the past three years with herself and Jenny and felt that it wouldn't be proper for a reunion at the graveside of someone the Doctor held dear.

The Doctor ignored his friend's attempts at levity and pulled out the calling card he had taken from Simeon before the whole mess had degraded into a disaster, when he had been filled with new enthusiasm and the joy in the hunt. Staring at the name of the company that was inscribed in black lettering across the small white square he frowned in thought. There was something familiar about that name, but what?

"The Great Intelligence... rings a bell... the Great Intelligence?" He murmured in thought as he watched Latimer and his children leave the graveside and re-pocketing the card he strode forwards; leaving Vastra and Jenny to hang behind trying to give him a measure of privacy.

"Doctor?" The Doctor heard Jenny approach cautiously as she exchanged a concerned glance with Vastra who had little understanding for the Doctor's sudden silence.

The Doctor knelt by Clara's grave and stared at the words inscribed upon the pale grey stone, stunned amazement filling him along with an emotion that felt suspiciously like hope and joy. He glanced up at them and gestured sharply before turning back to thos three impossible words that filled him with ridiculous hope.

"I never knew her name, her full name." The Doctor said quickly, he could feel his words practically tripping over themselves as they flooded his mouth. He stared at that impossible marker mouthing the three words that stood there starkly and hopefully. 'Clara Oswin Oswald' is inscribed in black ink on the grey stone and the improbability that there are two girls with the same name, the Doctor feels his mind almost short circuit at the thought.

"Souffle girl..." He breathed to Vastra and Jenny's utter confusion, he'd never told them of the asylum, of Amy and Rory's near-divorce; he couldn't it still hurt. But this, this should have been impossible; the universe doesn't make bargains, but the evidence was incontrovertible. "Oswin - it was her." He breathed, sounding like a man possessed.

Her voice, her lovely, sweet impossible voice floated through his mind "Oswin Owald, Junior Entertainment Manager, Starship Alaska!"

"It was Soufflé Girl again." The Doctor exclaimed excitedly, uncaring that Jenny and Vastra were staring at him as though he was barking mad. He stood a grin mad and manic stretching his face so widely that it nearly hurt and exhilaration filling his chest and sending his two hearts crazily beating in his chest. "I never saw her face the first time with the Daleks, but her voice, it was the same voice." He tried to explain but he was too excited, too filled with hope, she was alive. She just had to be!

Jenny stared at him, confusion filling her face and tone. "Doctor?!"

"The same woman, twice, and she died both times, the same woman!" The Doctor practically yelped, spinning around in exultation. She was ALIVE! He had no idea how or when but she was alive and he would find her and take her away. The Impossible Girl who had died twice and would live thrice. He felt like laughing.

"Doctor, what are you talking about?" Vastra demanded, trying to understand just what made the Doctor so happy and excited but pleased that he was no longer so listless and sad. If only she could _understand_!

"Something's going on, something impossible, something..." The Doctor rambled as he backed away, holding his hands up in placation still grinning broadly. "Right, you two stay here, stay right here, and don't move an inch." He spun and nearly ran in his haste to return to the TARDIS.

"Are you coming back?" Vastra called after him in frustration, she still didn't understand what that infuriating man or his sudden and infectious enthusiasm.

"Shouldn't think so!" Came the hollered reply as he darted between gravestones, hands waving wildly as he tried to keep his balance.

"But where are you going?" Vastra shouted, confused and annoyed.

The Doctor paused long enough to turn around and Vastra was surprised at the wild elation that filled those big sad eyes and that grin that split his face. Beside her Jenny seemed to brighten even as she dimmed in confusion. Neither Vastra nor Jenny understood where this ecstatic enthusiasm had some from but both were glad for it.

"To find her, to find Clara," the Doctor laughed madly and hurried away and Vastra quickly lost sight of the time lord as movement sounded behind her.

Jenny stared at her wife in complete confusion, "but Clara's dead. What's he talking about, finding her?"

Vastra shrugged as she replied, still greatly confused by the Doctor's sudden disappearance. "I don't know, but perhaps the universe makes bargains after all." She turned to look at the headstone noting the name that had so excited the Doctor and the words beneath it: _Remember me for we shall meet again_.

"Very rarely, Vastra, and when it does you had better hope you read all the fine print." Harry rumbled behind the trio, sending Jenny to the ground as she tried to spin in a circle. Harry gazed after the Doctor and sniffed very lightly, picking up the self-same scent that had characterised the Doctor he had met almost fourteen years ago...

"So, that is the Doctor then; he's quite a bit different to the skinny rake I met fourteen years ago." Harry noted idly, running a hand through his hair.

"Is he really that different from when you last met?" Jenny inquired, knowing that Harry had been searching (if half-heartedly) for the Doctor for years and was quite confused as to why he hadn't stepped forwards and introduced himself.

"He's shorter and worse dressed now." Harry replied with an irreverent grin, "with a dickey bow tie hung 'round his neck."

Vastra rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Well he has regenerated since then!"

"I know," Harry grinned roguishly, "doesn't stop me from seeing that though!"

Vastra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, between Harry and the Doctor she was certain all her scales would turn grey prematurely; they were infuriating. Jenny placed a sympathetic hand on her wife's shoulder and steered the vexed Silurian towards the coach where Strax was waiting for them. Harry laughed loudly and shot the grave one last look before following behind his friends, glad that the world was safe once more. He had little doubt that the Doctor would be back and with Clara in tow; the Doctor was right after all, the short brown haired woman was more than she appeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Crimson Horror

**Authors Note:**

Dear Readers, this is but a taste of what is to come, I trust that you won't be too upset with me for not uploading the full chapter, however time has a way of escaping even the most diligent writers and thus I leave you with this teaser. Please, do enjoy and know that I shall update within the next few weeks.

Regards, Sar'Kalu

* * *

**[1893]**

Jenny Flint, assistant Detective to the Madame Vastra led their latest client, one Mr Thursday, into the conservatory at the back of the house; the thick foliage of the many trees and bushes that shaded the room from the early morning sunlight were wreathed in a light mist that came from the humidifiers that had been placed in strategic positions around the room. A gift from the inestimable Doctor to the Madame, her Assistant and their Butler on the occasion of Melody Pond's return to her parents; even if that return had been… unusual. Madame Vastra was seated on a settee beneath her favoured weeping willow tree that had been planted in the centre of the room for that specific purpose; the Madame did so dislike the sunlight, she claimed it caused her scales to dry out and to become itchy. The Great Detective's gaze was torn from the morning newspaper detailing a series of murders when Mr Thursday, who was waved forwards by Miss Jenny, wasted little time in getting to the matter at hand. Jenny neatly rested her hands before her, her sharp brown eyes watching Mr Thursday and Madam Vastra converse, something had happened, something the Police were baffled by and Jenny was most curious as to the occasion.

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting." Mr Thursday said, his gratitude seeping through every nuance of his light baritone voice. "I'm told you are the investigator to see if there are strange goings-on."

Madame Vastra smiled a Mona Lisa smile beneath her heavy black veil and Jenny mimicked it, understanding her wife's humour at the wording. They really would have to send Doctor Doyle flowers at some stage; but for him they wouldn't be half so well known. Even Harry, bastard and rogue though he was, gained a pretty penny from Doctor Doyle's writings in the Strand.

"I read of your brother's death. Another victim of the Crimson Horror, I believe." Vastra announced precipitously her flat tone hiding the intense curiosity that she bore for the phenomenon. It sounded horribly familiar but so far Harry had been unable to crack the case. Mind you, he was corresponding with the police while in Plymouth. Such a busy man these days, Vastra smirked, she had known that he would thrive under these strange circumstances; it did take such a special kind of person. And who was more special or more strange than a werewolf?

Mr Thursday nodded cautiously. "So it is claimed. He was a newspaper man; he and a young woman were working undercover." Mr Thursday paused in his narrative long enough that Jenny could detect the hesitancy in his next words. "Tell me, Madame, do you know what an optogram is?"

Vastra laughed dismissively. "It is a silly superstition, sir. The belief that the eye can retain an image of the last thing it sees." Her eyes rolled beneath the thick veil to share her amusement with Jenny who smiles in reply. There was no scientific evidence to support the phenomenon, even the Doctor, learned as he was, dismissed such fancy.

Mr Thursday was not to be halted however now that he had his nerve back and, disregarding Madame Vastra's dismissive commentary regarding optograms, he held out a hazy photograph of his brother's eyes. It was eerie staring into the dead orbs that had once been so filled with the joy and love of life but the Madame needed to understand just what was so… disconcerting about them.

Madame Vastra reluctantly took the optogram and peered at it before shock stilled her movements. Without further ado the Madame threw back her veil revealing her scaled face to the disbelieving Mr Thursday her eyes wide with surprise. "Good grief!" She exclaimed causing Jenny's brows to rise, just what was so surprising about this photograph? Could it be that the Doctor had been wrong about them?

Mr Thursday stared at Madame Vastra, eyes trailing over the luminescent green scales and alien features. "Oh, god," he breathed before keeling over backwards, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He landed with a hollow thud and the Madame stared down at him in surprise. "How remarkable," Madame Vastra commented.

Jenny could barely hold back a snort of laughter.

**X**

**[City of Manchester, 1893]**

Harry entered his Manchester residence after having attended a case down in Plymouth to the obnoxious ringing of the telephone, he paused in askance at the phenomenon as he still wore his travelling clothing and felt more than a little uncomfortable covered in mud and debris as he was. However curiosity quickly won him over and he swiftly made his way over to the back enameled machine, barely noticing his butler's efficient movements in clearing his luggage from the entryway. Behind him, Madison, his assistant and friend watched him in curiosity before retiring to her room leaving him quite alone. She knew that there would be no more cases this night and chances were that is was Miss Jenny or Madame Vastra calling from London.

The phone rang a sixth time and he answered with the propriety that a well-to-do gentleman was expected, wondering just who would be calling him at this late hour.

"Mister Black."

"Harry, its Jenny; we need you to come in."

"Jenny Flint, voice of a nightingale; how wonderful to hear from you." Harry drawled as he lent indolently against a nearby wall. "What can I do for you this time?"

"The Madame has a case for you." Jenny's voice drifted over the telephone with a hint of challenge. Jenny was always challenging Harry, she felt his idle and incautious ways were ill suited to one of his station.

"And where would this case be?" Harry asked barely able to keep the grin from his face.

"Sweetville, Yorkshire!"

Harry raised a black brow in mild surprise, "you have a lead then?" He had been conversing regularly with the MET department in Yorkshire and had yet to turn over anything of substance. It did not surprise him that the Madame was swift to insert herself into the strange and mysterious matter. The Sweetville Case had been next on his list of 'Things To Do', only Madison had been less enthused.

"Us? No." Jenny's reply was distorted by movement in the background and Harry could hear Madame Vastra ordering Strax around in the background.

"Then why are we investigating an admittedly strange but otherwise elementary case?" Harry inquired drolly, peering at his nails in false nonchalance; his eyes gleamed with hidden interest because Jenny wouldn't be ringing him if she didn't have something to bait him with. Besides which the idea of men and women being turned to red wax? Their faces transformed into an expression of horror unseen by the living eye? In what way was he supposed to avoid this intriguing case?

"The Doctor himself has requested our presence," came the reply and Harry's heart ceased to beat in his surprise before it restarted at double the speed and a grin split his face in two.

"Well, that changes everything then!"

"I thought it would."

Harry laughed gaily as he replaced the receiver on its hook. The game, as the Bard had once proclaimed, was afoot!


End file.
